victory's Ashes
by SecretRage
Summary: Read on to find out. No free peeks here. Let's just say that it takes place immediately during and after Baal's death, and all seems to be well. Or is it?


1 Victory's Ashes  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chris Nicholson  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Prologue  
  
Baal laughed. The last of the three demonic evils threw up his head and howled to the skies, shaking in mirth even as his spirit fled his body through the huge holes my sword had torn in his scaly hide. The chamber echoed with Baal's cackling at me, bouncing and resounding the mad laughter until it sounded like a legion of dying demons instead of the one I knew there to be.  
  
He suddenly choked, putting an end to his inane chortle. The last Prime Evil coldly stared at me, into me, and through me. My eyes locked with his and I felt a surge of… something… pass from those dull red coals into my soul. Satisfaction? The great demon then haltingly hissed his malevolent last words into my face, accompanied by a great deal of acidic spit.  
  
"I thank you…comrade. Your actions have achieved my goal… I can truly rest in peace. You will reap the benefits of this… every single one of them as deadly as a sword through your gut…"  
  
After this parting shot, he fell silent and breathed his last. I spat on his unmoving corpse, full of satisfaction in my achievement, hope for the future, and faith that Tyrael knew what he was doing when he smashed the Worldstone…  
  
I was a fool.  
  
  
  
If only I had known then what I know now. The necromancers understood part of it at least; why couldn't I? Baal certainly understood it. The world exists through a proper balance of good and evil. Take too much of one away, and chaos in its many forms appears to replace the missing pieces. Killing all three Prime Evils and most of their servants upset the balance, turned it upside down. Good became evil. Man was not affected because we have always been in between, but the righteous angels…  
  
When Tyrael descended from the heavens after I killed Baal, did I suspect anything? Did I notice the subtle transformation of his gossamer wings to something more demonic in origin? Did I see the red-rimmed rage in his eyes; hear the roughness of his speech? If I had torn his hood off, would I have found a devil's face staring back at me instead of an angel's?  
  
It is too late now. Once Tyrael crushed the massive Worldstone, all barriers between realms collapsed. We were wide open for an invasion, and still licking our wounds given by Hell's denizens. Former demons and former angels flooded Sanctuary, more of the latter than the former. I had already killed most of the demons that could have aided mankind against the "angels." At the beginning, there was no fight, no battle. There was a slaughter. A massacre. I still remember the faces of friends lost, comrades slain.  
  
Even now I prepare for the final stand against our foes. They are lead by none other than the Archangel Tyrael, whom I once called "friend." Where I once saw love and inner peace in his blue eyes, all I see now is hate and chaos in those burning flame-filled depths. He beckons to me with with his flaming sword across the battlefield, filled mostly with the bodies of my fallen command. I salute him and go to meet my death. As I walk towards him, I remember my previous victory and see a final truth. In the end, all victories are ash.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 1  
  
Shadows of Doubt  
  
Baal laughed. The last of the three demonic evils threw up his head and howled to the skies, shaking in mirth even as his spirit fled his body through the huge holes my sword had torn in his scaly hide. The chamber echoed with Baal's cackling at me, bouncing and resounding the mad laughter until it sounded like a legion of dying demons instead of the one I knew there to be.  
  
He suddenly choked, putting an end to his inane chortle. The last Prime Evil coldly stared at me, into me, and through me. My eyes locked with his and I felt a surge of… something… pass from those dull red coals into my soul. Satisfaction? The great demon then haltingly hissed his malevolent last words into my face, accompanied by a great deal of acidic spit.  
  
"I thank you…comrade. Your actions have achieved my goal… I can truly rest in peace. You will reap the benefits of this… every single one of them as deadly as a sword through your gut…"  
  
After this parting shot, he fell silent and breathed his last. I spat on his unmoving corpse, full of satisfaction in my achievement, hope for the future, and faith that Tyrael knew what he was doing when he smashed the Worldstone… I was a fool.  
  
The chamber started to shake, the bloodstained floor jumping beneath my feet. A heavenly choir sang (but now I can remember little difference between that and the howling of demons), and the Archangel Tyrael appeared before me. He slowly descended until he was floating a few inches off the ground, as if flying were becoming harder for him. He usually floated a few feet in the air, maybe to make him feel taller. I smirked. Getting old, Tyrael? Not able to levitate as well as the youngsters anymore? I then voiced these words out loud, in a more respectful manner since us paladins revere angels.  
  
"Are you all right, my friend? You seem a little off color today, if you know what I mean." I gave voice to this question in a tentative way so that the archangel wouldn't get mad and kick my… No! No swearing, not even silently in my own head. I gave myself a whack with the flat of my blade as a reprimand.  
  
"Never mind me. The question is, how are you, mortal? You have just fought the greatest master of Hell and you dare to ask ME if I am all right? You're the one who's almost dead, not me. I'm not sure I even can die. I know I haven't yet."  
  
I gasped. Not at the pitiful excuse for a joke, but at how he spoke to me. Tyrael was always the very soul of respect, and he never talked to me this way, not even in a joke. He hadn't even remembered to heal me, as he had that day when I collapsed in front of him after unchaining him in the Tomb of Tal Rasha. I got over my surprise as Tyrael started speaking again. Whatever was wrong with him today was just a reluctance to show his excitement at the end of a long war.  
  
"You must leave here immediately, my… friend. I must destroy this Worldstone. It is already corrupted under Baal's evil influence. It will soon open the gateway to Hell, unleashing what is left of the demons unless I destroy it." He chuckled darkly at some inner joke as he created a portal back to the safety within Harrogath's walls. As I walked through, triumphant in my victory, I gave a start. That chuckle was much like Baal's.  
  
After being healed by Mala, I wandered aimlessly through the Barbarian city, troubled by nameless fears. I had won, hadn't I? If so, then why did everything feel as if it were horribly wrong? I had been taught by sages and teachers too numerous to mention that I needed to "go with my gut." What if your gut says to kill a friend without any reasonable suspicion? What if that friend is a mighty Archangel who has suffered beyond belief for the sake of mankind?  
  
Absorbed in my thought, I suddenly bumped into the one person I could always go to for advice. Deckard Cain. Last of the Horadrim, learned scholar, sage, and full of advice for anything from finding an eye to killing huge monsters.  
  
"Stay awhile and listen!" He boomed at me. It sounded almost like an order. I hid a smile. Cain has a surprisingly deep bass voice for such an old decrepit man. I fear that he hasn't found many listeners during his stay at Harrogath, and Cain feels a need to talk a lot. I saw Qual-kehk hiding from Cain in a corner, using his barbarian training to blend with the wall behind him. Trying to avoid a forced conversation, perhaps?  
  
"Sorry, Cain. This time I think it is you who will be doing the listening, and I who will be doing the talking. I have a small concern that I would appreciate your thoughts on." I then proceeded to tell him of all that had occurred since my last visit to town, elaborating a bit on the fight between Baal and me. I also told him of my half-formed suspicions about Tyrael.  
  
"I know it sounds stupid, but I can't help but think that Tyrael is up to something," I finished my tale with. Cain looked at me seriously, but I think he was hiding something from me. He almost jumped in shock when I told him of Tyrael destroying the Worldstone.  
  
"My young friend, whatever Tyrael was doing was for the best, I'm sure. I have put my trust in him for my whole life, and he has never let me down, or let mankind down. If you'll excuse me, I believe I have some new manuscripts that must be translated." With that he turned and hobbled away, leaning on his blackened staff for support, or comfort.  
  
I was left alone to battle with yet another shade of doubt, and with more questions than before. Did Cain know something important? I will never know, because that was the last time I would see Deckard Cain alive.  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 2  
  
Old Friends, New Faces  
  
Deckard Cain hobbled into his small room in the silent barbarian city of Harrogath. With an apprehensive look over his shoulder to make sure he was not being followed, he eased the rickety wooden door shut, denying entrance to the cold Northern winds, and, more importantly, providing a little security against an enemy. As he slid the bolt into its hole, he realized that a lock could work two ways. It can trap an enemy out, or yourself in. He then glanced at his darkened room, wondering if anything hid in the shadows. The Horadrim clasped his hands in front of him and began the whispered incantations necessary for a weak mage to create a spell of light.  
  
"Don't bother, old man. I have a quicker way." The archangel Tyrael stepped out of the gloom. He unsheathed his sword and it burst into flame, shedding the shadows like an unneeded cloak. "You should have known that I would come for you."  
  
"I thought I had more time," Cain whispered. "As soon as I heard the paladin's story I knew what had happened to you. I came back here to try and find a solution, a way to help you, and return you to your original place in the great Balance between good and evil. All angels are becoming like you, aren't they? The death of Baal must have triggered it. And the demons are becoming more angelic. Tyrael, it should not be this way. You were meant to serve the Light, not the Darkness." As he spoke, his voice gained in confidence and volume, until he was pointing at Tyrael and lecturing him like a wayward child.  
  
The dark angel sneered in contempt. "Help me? A way to help me? I need no help. I am more powerful than ever before, and I have plans for my new power. Great plans."  
  
The red-hot blade moved closer to Tyrael, illuminating him completely. Cain saw many subtle differences, as if this were a dark twin of the real Tyrael. The cowl was gone from his head, revealing finely chiseled features with a distinct haughty look. The angel had deep black eyes, with a hint of growing red in them. The old sage was strongly reminded of a cross between a hawk and a demon. Gold hair with black streaks cascaded down his neck, stopping just above his shoulders. He looked like he was halfway through a transformation of colors. Even his wings were slowly turning black, starting at the tips of each individual strand. The tips were completely black, and the darkness stretched outwards, eventually fading. Cain sensed that although the angel was dark in appearance, the true darkness lay in his heart.  
  
"Unfortunately for you, you are not part of my plans."  
  
With these final words, Tyrael pulled back his massive sword over his shoulder, preparing for a powerful strike. The trapped sage had nowhere to run. As the sword began its deadly descent, Cain found he had only one question left.  
  
"Why?" His voice was abruptly cut off as the fiery blade carved a path through his neck sending his head flying. The body remained upright, propped by his gnarled oaken staff.  
  
The smiling archangel pondered his words carefully for several minutes. Then he crossed the room to where the blankly staring head lay. He crouched down next to it and spoke softly in its ear. "Why not?"  
  
As he straightened back up, a subtle change seized him. For a moment, he began to alter back to the old Tyrael. Sympathy and horror for what he had become showed in his black eyes, now showing a hint of his former blue. His blackened wings began to glow golden, the darkness reluctantly retreating back to the tips. "I'm sorry, Deckard…" A single tear ran down his cheek and dripped onto the head of his friend whom he had once sworn to protect. Then the wings dulled once more, the eyes regained their flinty black gaze. The dark archangel had come back. It felt as if the sun had come out from behind murky clouds for a brief instant, and was then shut back behind a door. "But the strong survive. It was your time."  
  
A few seconds later, a shadowy figure stepped out onto the streets of Harrogath, beat its wings, and launched into the air. No one saw anything as it flew away on shimmering black wings. If Cain could have seen the shadow now, he would have noticed that the wings appeared even blacker, and were showing specks of blood.  
  
  
  
If there's any race that can really party in lack of style, it's the barbarians. I couldn't join in on most of the festivities celebrating Baal's death because they involved getting roaring drunk. I was getting dehydrated because the only drink available in Harrogath's inns seemed to be alcohol, more alcohol, wine, more wine, beer, more beer, ale, more ale… you get my point. The rules I have to live by for a little power. Cain is lucky, he's allowed to drink. In fact, that old man seemed to enjoy drinking quite a lot. I can't remember a time when he wasn't drunk. Even back in his cage in Tristram, he managed to telekinetically grab some wine from Ogden's burnt down inn. Where was Cain, anyway? It had been a few hours since he had left me to "translate manuscripts." Sleep, more likely.  
  
I decided to go get Cain and drag him to the celebrations. Maybe I'd even listen to one of his stories. I was desperate for a little entertainment. Besides, he had been a large part of this victory. He deserved to party and get drunk, unlike myself.  
  
All thoughts of self-pity vanished when I reached the sage's small house. I sensed something wrong in the air. I sniffed, and I smelled blood. I ran inside, straight into the body of my old friend, my dead friend. A few paces farther I saw his head.  
  
I didn't cry, for I had seen so many comrades die that I was beyond the point of tears. Then I resolved to do something I had never done before.  
  
Get revenge.  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 3  
  
Troubled Dreams  
  
I slowly backed away from the headless corpse of my friend and mentor, Deckard Cain. Questions raced across my mind, questions more important than my grief or thoughts of revenge. Revenge could wait, but not for long. Someone would die for this, be it a man, woman, child, or demon.  
  
Question: who killed Cain?  
  
Question: why did they kill him?  
  
Supposition: he must have known something important, a piece of information deadly enough to somebody that they would kill him to protect their secret. The only thing Cain had of value was information, but information is more valuable than a lake of gold to a soul in search of answers. It can also be deadlier than poison.  
  
Conclusion: I couldn't think clearly. I obviously needed to get some sleep. It had been a busy day, what with killing a Prime Evil and having one of your last surviving friends get his head chopped off.  
  
Obediently following this line of reasoning, I walked back to the inn I was staying at, amid the mad revelry of its inhabitants. I left the corpse lying where it was. No one would care. Death was a common occurrence in Harrogath these days, and dead bodies a frequent sight.  
  
Reaching my room, I sighed and sank into my bed, fully armored still. A warrior of my history learns to sleep easily even when covered in plates of steel. Who knows when you'll need it? I kept my right hand closed over the hilt of my sword. I closed my eyes and instantly fell asleep, entering the realm of nightmares.  
  
Troubled dreams of headless sages plagued my sleep. I saw the head of Deckard Cain. It moved its lips, as if trying to tell me something of great importance. I did not hear anything. It yelled at me, but I still could not hear its silent words.  
  
"What do you want?" I screamed in frustration. I could hear no response, although it opened its mouth and appeared to be screaming. I finally heard its voice, faintly as if from a great distance.  
  
"Watch for the angels… watch for the angels." I turned around and saw the headless corpse of Tyrael standing beside me.  
  
It spoke into my mind. "I am sorry."  
  
"What are you sorry for, Tyrael?" I received no response. The headless angel and the head of Deckard Cain began to dissolve away. I was left alone in my mind.  
  
More followed them. I saw and spoke with comrades long dead, monsters long since slain. I fought Mephisto a hundred more times in my imagination. In some battles I won. In others, I was slain and the Prime Evils destroyed Sanctuary. I relived the worst experiences of my life many times, always ending with the image of the headless Deckard Cain.  
  
Then another visitor came to my dreams. Baal appeared there and laughed at me. After hours he finally stopped and regarded me thoughtfully.  
  
"I killed you, Baal."  
  
"Yes, I know. You killed me. Now you are experiencing the rewards of your heroic actions. Was it worth it?"  
  
"Anything is worth it if it will save Sanctuary from destruction. I did what I had too to win the war."  
  
"Did you? I don't think so. You won the battle, and are doomed to lose the war."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Wake up and look out your window." And then he too left me.  
  
I woke up, my sweating hand still clutched around the sword that I had swung thousands of times in my dreams during the night. I rose and looked out my window, to see destruction and murder in Harrogath. Plumes of black smoke rose from burning houses. Wings glistened in the sky. We had been silently invaded. I had slept through it. We had been invaded by angels. As I ran out the door into the streets of Harrogath, the full implications of what I had just thought hit me.  
  
We had been invaded by angels.  
  
By angels.  
  
I ran faster.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 4  
  
Friend and Foe  
  
I ran almost to middle of the town without encountering any opposition. Though, I didn't know what I would do if I did find enemies. As a paladin, I was sworn to revere and respect angels. Fighting and killing them didn't seem to fall in that category.  
  
Fine then. I'm not a paladin anymore. These murderers need to be killed. I will not serve the Light if it kills innocent humans. As soon as I thought these words, the proud red symbol on my shield, marking me to be a paladin, faded away. That didn't bother me, but the thought that someone up there was listening to my thoughts did. I was no longer a paladin, but at least nothing could take away my holy skills once I had learned them. Or so I thought.  
  
I heard the sounds of battle beginning. I quickly glanced around the corner, and what I saw sickened me. No, that wasn't the sound of battle. It was the sound of a one-way massacre. The angels had grouped all their victims in the center of the city, near the well. The inhabitants of Harrogath were being systematically butchered, unable to fight because of their drunkenness. Their reflexes dulled to the point of nonexistence, the strong barbarians were as helpless as children. Speaking of children, they were being killed too.  
  
Then I saw the leader of the brutal angels. My heart stopped as his head turned and his deep black eyes met mine. I recognized those features, although they had been changed somewhat since I last saw them. Tyrael. Archangel. Friend? Foe?  
  
In his hands he held the wizened gray haired head of Cain, which he must have retrieved for some reason. To taunt me? I suddenly knew who Cain's murderer was. I just wished I knew why. I remembered the words that I had thought earlier. 'Someone would die for this, be it a man, woman, child, or demon.' How about an angel?  
  
"Come, join us if you are a true servant of the… Light. Your place is with us," he proclaimed in my direction. All activity stopped. Every eye turned to me.  
  
I slowly stepped forward into the bloody square, never lowering my eyes from his. What was happening? How could this be? I was tempted to join him for a moment. What was the purpose of fighting a losing battle?  
  
Then I saw a dying father protectively holding his daughter beneath him, promising her with his last breath that the monsters would not get her. The little girl cried as her father died, breaking the silence. She appeared to be only four years old. Appearances can be deceiving.  
  
"No, Tyrael. My place is not with you. My place is to protect the innocent. Not to butcher them like cattle. That fate I will save for you, and all others who help you." I drew my sword out of its scabbard with a metallic ring. My voice sounded steady and determined. Point for my side. That's not how I felt.  
  
"Easy for you to say now," he laughed arrogantly. "How about these two? Will you kill them because they are helping me?"  
  
With a wave of his arm, he sent forth two fellow holy knights that I knew well. Lachlan and Omar. How could they have fallen this low? I knew them to both be good righteous paladins. That must be it. Too righteous to resist the orders of a famous archangel, no matter how corrupt the orders were.  
  
My two former comrades in arms approached me cautiously, holding their swords in wary positions in front of them. I could not kill these two. Nor did I want to. I started to drop my sword to the ground in a gesture of surrender, and then I heard a small voice.  
  
"Wake up, daddy. Its not time for bed yet." As I looked at its source, my eyes met the little girl's and held them for a moment. I vowed to save her, or die trying. Dying seemed far more likely at this point.  
  
I grimly straightened up, my sword ready. I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them it was with new resolve. An aura flickered to life around my feet. It would grant me the gift of heavily increased damage and inhuman speed. My friends-turned-foes chose their own auras and moved forward.  
  
I was facing two highly skilled old friends and a legion of demonic angels, with only my trusty sword and Zakarum powers to aid me. Things could not possibly get worse. This was the worst it could get.  
  
Tyrael raised his hands and pointed at me.  
  
My aura sputtered futilely for a moment and suddenly disappeared in a flurry of blue sparks.  
  
I stand corrected.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 5  
  
There May Only be One  
  
I stood there, my aura stripped from me. I glanced at my opponents. They were halfway across the square from me, and advancing steadily. I decided to close that gap. If I die, I might as well give everybody a good show.  
  
With no warning, I charged forward with unearthly speed, hoping to smash into them and knock them over. A man in full steel plated armor has very little chance of getting up if he's on the ground. Hoping to. With another flick of a finger from Tyrael, my charge abruptly ended. Unbalanced, it was I who fell to the ground. My naked head crashed to the ground with a dull thud. It was as good as over now that I was on the ground. I lay there, not even attempting to get up. It was impossible without help.  
  
"Get up, Mister!" It was the little girl again. She kept showing up and inspiring me to keep fighting. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have noticed that that was a little suspicious. She extended her pale small palms, and I grasped them in my steel caged hands. With astonishing strength for a little girl, she pulled me to my feet.  
  
Just in time to duck one sword and ward off the other. Apparently, my opponents were here now. They had sure taken their time.  
  
The next few minutes were like a blur to me. I was always on the defensive, never getting a chance to land a blow of my own in. Parry. Crouch. Twist to avoid that sword coming in from the side, and slap aside the other blade at the same time. I was slowly wearing down, and they knew it. Each spectacular save came a fraction of a second slower. I was certainly putting on an excellent show, but I wouldn't live to see the end of it unless I got on the offensive.  
  
Then opportunity struck. With a fluid motion, I disarmed Lachlan and sent his weapon flying away. He scrambled to get it, leaving Omar and me alone for a few precious seconds. As the sword of my old comrade Omar descended towards my head, I used a move that neither of them had ever seen before. I jammed the hilt of my weapon against his, twisted it, and thrust so that the point of his blade was trapped between plates in my armor. A very risky maneuver. Also very rewarding if pulled off. He tugged futilely at it for a moment, and then looked up at me with a pleading expression, as if asking for mercy. I ignored that and pierced his throat with a short stab. Crimson blood gushed out, staining my gauntlets as I watched him die.  
  
Then it was just me against Lachlan. The more skilled and experienced of the two. He had seen how I killed Omar, so that trick wouldn't work again. Lachlan fought against me, using short swipes and stabs so that I could neither disarm him nor hook my blade with his. I parried his strikes, occasionally adding my own in a counterstrike. He drew first blood on me, his sword hissing across my chin and lopping off the tip of an ear. I would have a nasty scar on my cheek, but nothing serious.  
  
I responded to his strike with a powerful blow of my own. It landed on his breastplate, stunning him momentarily, although there was no injury done. I quickly followed up by chopping off the tip his right ear, my arm little more than a blur of speed.  
  
"An eye for an eye, an ear for an ear," I proclaimed loudly.  
  
Knowing that I was trying to goad him into doing something rash, Lachlan kept his cool. He did not respond. That elevated my opinion of him even higher. To bad I would either kill him or be killed by him.  
  
He closed his distance with me, so that swipes of the sword were no longer possible. He had the advantage now, due to his shorter and lighter blade. We could only stab each other now, making the battle more serious. I furiously tried to remember all that I had been taught of close-quarters combat. We circled each other for minutes, watching each other's chests for signs of where the next strike would come from. I finally made the first move, with a short pierce coming in towards his heart. He easily parried it, and replied with a stab that slipped through my armor and lodged in my stomach.  
  
My breath ran out of me with a massive gasp. I sagged forward onto his rapier, and knew that I would be finished in a few seconds unless I did something very stupid. Which I decided to do.  
  
As he drew his blade out of me and prepared for the fight-ending thrust, I slowly stood. When the strike came, I grabbed his sword with my left hand. Ignoring the pain as my hand was run through, I grasped the tip with my other hand and slowly began to bend it, using all my considerable strength in this effort.  
  
With an audible crack, Lachlan's rapier snapped into two pieces. Both pieces were still dangerous, but neither deadly enough to kill me. I thought that this fight was over.  
  
I was gravely mistaken.  
  
My opponent stepped back a few paces, raised his hands to the skies, and spoke familiar words to me, echoing what the headless Tyrael from my dreams had told me.  
  
"I am sorry."  
  
Then a bolt of pure lightning shot down from the heavens and struck me. I screamed until my throat was raw, as my body was infused with raw energy. Through a mighty act of defiance and strength, I managed to stay on my feet. For five seconds. Then I crashed onto the ground.  
  
The last thing I saw was the little girl's face above mine. Strange. She didn't look so young anymore… Even as I gazed at her, her features blurred and changed.  
  
And then all was blackness.  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 6  
  
Cage of Guilt  
  
The dreams returned with a vengeance.  
  
I found myself standing in a field of soft grass, soft blades as green as emeralds. The sun benignly shined down onto my head, bestowing upon earth its precious gift of life and heat. Great fur trees stood like silent sentinels in the distance, protecting me from harm. There was no chilling wind, no unforgiving cold. Just blessed warmth and light.  
  
I wandered around my new home, marveling at the perfection of everything. I lay down amid the gentle pillow of grass, feeling the texture and enjoying its comfort. The rest was good for me, especially after such a hard… such a hard what? I couldn't remember, so I returned to my observations of the world around me. It was almost like a work of art, a dream world too good to be true.  
  
Too good to be true?  
  
Harsh laughter echoed through my ears. Visions of fire and destruction replaced serenity and peace. The great trees toppled and burst into flame. The grass decayed and withered. The sun, which had seen so benign at first, suddenly grew dark and red. Bolts of lightning raced across the skies, illuminating it in a web of light more sinister than any I had ever beheld.  
  
I tried to get out of this nightmare, escape this horror, but there was no release from myself. I was trapped within the clutches of the cruel enemies residing inside my own mind. Their chief came out and showed himself.  
  
"Still sure that you did what was right?" Baal appeared in the middle of the field, riding upon a pillar of black fire.  
  
"You knew this would happen, didn't you," I replied. I should have been angry, but I just couldn't find any emotion within my heart. I was devoid of all feelings and expressions.  
  
The demon ignored my question and waved his hand. In an instant, the nightmarish field disappeared, to be replaced with visions far worse.  
  
I saw Tyrael decapitating Deckard Cain. I heard every single detail of their conversation; the sounds magnified thousands of times until they resounded in my mind. I saw the citizens of Harrogath murdered hundreds of times. Some were burnt to death. Others were beheaded. All were dead. I tried to close my eyes, but I could never escape the cries of the dying. When I opened them, it was to watch myself as I coldly killed my comrade, Omar. He pleaded with his eyes, but I ignored him. Once again, his crimson blood gushed forth onto my hands as I watched him die.  
  
"All this is because of you," Baal whispered into my ear. I didn't want to believe him, but I knew with absolute certainty that this was no lie. "All of it. You caused this. They would all be alive if it weren't for you."  
  
Baal stopped and looked at me expectantly, as if waiting to crush a defiant reply. I was beyond defiance. I stood there in stunned silence for a moment. Then I looked back at the horrific scenes. Gruesome though they were, I had to see this. I had to know. Had to feel the pain of the people that I had caused to die.  
  
Unnerved by my silence, Baal growled at me. "You call me the demon. I have never, in all the thousands of years I have lived, condemned so many hundreds of innocents to die in a single day."  
  
Provoked by his words, I finally responded. "Hundreds? Only about two hundred lived in Harrogath."  
  
"Little paladin, are you so stupid that you believe the angels would attack only one city? I think I shall take my leave of you for now. Remember as you watch these images: these are what you fought for."  
  
With that, Baal left in a flash of dark smoke and a crack of thunder. I was left to the mercy of the new apparitions he left behind. They gave me a whole new definition of mercy. The same type of mercy I gave to Omar; none.  
  
I appeared in a small village in Scosglen. Nothing was left except ashes and corpses.  
  
The smoking ruins of Kurast materialized before my eyes. The body of old Ormus lay staked out upon an altar. Red robed bodies lay piled haphazardly on the ground.  
  
I came to the Amazonian island of Philios. It had been ruined, its inhabitants murdered. As I looked onward, I saw a squadron of winged figures flying on to the next island. I wished the amazons luck.  
  
I was taken to Lut Gohlien. It was under siege, an army of angels flying overhead and swooping down like hawks to the kill. Another old face led them, Hadriel.  
  
I saw the secret citadel of the dark necromancers. It was not yet being attacked. I listened as the black mages searched for the cause of this terrifying menace. Even as I gazed at it, the image was hastily swept away, as if it had appeared by accident.  
  
More horrific dreams followed, but I now had one hope to hold on to. The necromancers knew something. Even as I was whisked away to some new horror, one thought rebounded through my brain.  
  
Must find the necromancers…  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 7  
  
Enemy of My Enemy  
  
After what seemed like years of torture, my unseen tormentors reluctantly released me back into the land of the living.  
  
In other words, I woke up.  
  
I cautiously sat up in my bed and took stock of my surroundings. I was in a small room with sparse white walls. It was furnished spartanly, with only a single bed upon which I slept, and a cushioned wooden chair. A door stood about eight feet away from me, on the opposite wall. My armor lay on the floor in a neat pile. I couldn't help but notice that it was scrubbed free of blood until it shined with cleanliness, and that my sword lay next to it. The first meant that at least some of my hosts were women. The second meant that I was not a prisoner.  
  
My attention then turned to myself. I was dressed in a flowing white robe, with short sleeves and a thin golden cord knotted around my waist. I experimentally slid off my bed to see if I had healed well. As I slipped off my feet and crashed onto the floor, I mentally cursed my experimentive nature. While I reached up to grab hold of my bed and lever myself back onto it, the door softly opened.  
  
A rich laugh filled the room as a demoness entered through the door. I slowly turned around and faced her, not even bothering to grab my sword. If she was an enemy, I didn't stand a chance in this condition. She stood still in the doorway for a few moments, allowing me to survey her.  
  
The demoness was a succubus. The feathered wings at her side were a dead give away. For a second, I regretted using the word dead. It reminded me of a few rather unpleasant memories. She was on the ground now, her hands at her sides, but I knew that in a moment she could hover in the air and launch a painful red bolt at me. I believe the succubi call them 'Bloodstars.'  
  
Although she was a succubus, she was the strangest succubus I had ever seen. For one, she was fully clothed in a modest robe similar to mine. Also, gone were the pitch-black eyes. This one had light blue eyes and shoulder length curly blond hair, both of which I had never seen among all the demonesses I had killed in my travels. She had delicate features, and a face that I was sure I had seen before.  
  
Somewhere…  
  
"So, how are you today?" She broke the silence hanging in the air. "I notice that you're on the floor. Please don't tell me you tried to stand up." She had a soft soprano voice.  
  
Have you ever heard a demon use the word 'please'?  
  
I stared at her for a while, and then realized that she was politely waiting for a reply. I tried to say, "Where am I?" but all that left my throat was a hacking cough.  
  
The succubus correctly interpreted this as a plea for healing and crossed the room to where I was. She laid her hands upon my head, and warmth rushed through me. I suddenly felt energized and healthy. That is, healthy enough to crawl back into bed. I still felt horrible, just not as horrible as before.  
  
Knowing that I was unable to speak, the succubus smiled and spoke to me, revealing sharply pointed teeth. The fangs barely registered in my mind, as I focused on matters of more importance. She had dimples! I love dimples…  
  
"To answer the questions you no doubt have, you are in a secret area of Hell. This is a training arena for our warriors, and recently converted to be a hospital too. It is about two days after we rescued you from your fight."  
  
Triggered by those words, I suddenly recalled where I had seen her before. It had been only two days ago, but she had sure aged a lot in that time.  
  
I managed to cough out some words in her face. To her credit, she didn't back away as I coughed and spit all over her face. "You the little girl?"  
  
"Yes, that was me. My 'father' was another one of us. The ability to disguise ourselves as humans is a rare one among my kind, and it is highly valued. We shifted back to our original forms and carried you here when you blacked out."  
  
"Kind of you… why not rescue me BEFORE I almost died?" As my voice quickly recovered, so did my anger.  
  
The succubus flushed and looked away from me. "All in due time… I don't think you're quite ready for that yet. I know that I'm not ready to explain it yet."  
  
"Why did you even bother to rescue me? Why bring me here and heal me? Not that I don't appreciate it, mind you, but aren't we enemies?" By now, I was thoroughly confused by all of this. But I wished she would stop looking away from me and give me a straight answer to at least one of my questions.  
  
Once again, the demoness beamed at me, showing off her excellent dimples. That almost made me forgive her for answering me with a riddle. "Enemy of my enemy is my friend. Now, I think you need to get back to sleep."  
  
With that, she again laid her hands upon my head. With a whispered word from her, I fell into a deep sleep. I thought one more extremely profound thought before succumbing to slumber.  
  
I hope I have the same nurse when I wake up…  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 8  
  
Questions and Answers  
  
Surprisingly, I slept well. No induced nightmares came to plague my mind, no demons played games with my head. I only had normal, natural nightmares. Life was good. Maybe my little voices had trouble playing their games when the sleep was forced upon me with a spell. Or maybe they were just out of ideas for now.  
  
After a bit of well deserved almost nightmare free rest, I opened my eyes and arose from my slumber. Rather, my eyes flew open and I woke up as my nurse, as I now thought of her, leaned over and gently shook me. As my brain reluctantly roused, I thought that at least this was a sight worth waking up to. I almost growled at her for abruptly ending my sleep, but immediately thought better of it. Never argue with a woman who can kill you in a second. The number one essential rule to survival in this rough world we live in. You know, besides all the other rule number ones.  
  
"Quick, get up. You've got someone who wants to meet with you."  
  
"So? What if I don't want to meet with them?" Great, I sound like a petulant little child who didn't get what he wanted for his birthday. I'm sure she's really impressed by me… I think I might be about to break rule number one.  
  
Fortunately, I have an understanding nurse. Understanding, can heal, has dimples, and is beautiful. If only she were human… Anyways, she refrained from hurting me. "Because this person has the answers to most, if not all, of your questions."  
  
"I'm convinced that I need to meet this person." I was out of bed as soon as she finished her answer.  
  
She followed me out of the room, and took the lead. I followed her through the fortress. I had a great view of her back… I mean, I had a great view of the fortress.  
  
The walls were hewn out of dark stone and made me feel closed in. Torches flickered from their posts, providing the only light in this dismal place. Wait… not the only light.  
  
I glanced at my nurse. She was glowing slightly. At that moment, I felt the power in her. It was veiled right now, but I could just barely sense it within her, like a mighty lake contained behind a dam. Then she glanced back at me, and hurriedly shut away her power.  
  
"We're here," the succubus announced to me, stopping in front of a set of large elaborate double doors. Intricate carvings showed on their shining brass handles. I examined them, and recognized powerful spells of warding. Whoever was in this room was protected by much more than mere doors.  
  
I was jerked out of my investigation as the two doors slowly opened at a whispered word from my guide. They grated across the floor, revealing a large chamber within. It was more like a small throne room than a large chamber. Steep walls extended above my head for about twenty feet, and long window slits were carved into the stone walls, allowing the light of the sun to enter the room. Lush white carpeting coated the floor, and a granite pathway led up the middle to a simple wooden throne.  
  
An old succubus sat on the throne. I never bothered to look at her closely, busy gazing at her spiritual presence, not her physical manifestation. Power emanated off of her like heat from the sun. Her presence filled the room with electricity, latent danger. Unlike my nurse, she made no attempt to disguise her magic.  
  
"Enter," she spoke, and her voice was like the rolling of thunder, the crashing of waves upon distant beaches. Both of us stepped through the doors and strode towards the dais. The doors silently closed behind my back, with only a whisper of air announcing their action. My succubi nurse left my side to stand at the right hand of the aged demoness before me.  
  
I stood there before her, waiting for her to make the first move. I definitely wasn't the one in charge of this little meeting.  
  
"So, paladin. I am the leader of the remaining forces in Hell. I hear that you have some questions for me."  
  
I found my voice and utilized it. "Yes. First of all, why did you rescue me? And how did a, excuse the expression, demon, get the ability to heal? As I well know, healing is a heavenly power."  
  
"Excellent questions. I think I shall answer the easier one first. Healing is a heavenly power, you are correct. But we who were once demons are now angels. We are heavenly. You have noticed that the former angels are now acting demonically."  
  
"How did this happen?" I interrupted her. My other question could wait for now.  
  
"I have no idea, but I know that it has something to do with the Balance."  
  
"Well then, who does know? Where can we find out?"  
  
"You already know the answer to that, don't you? The only experts on the Balance are the necromancers. You will begin a journey to ask them after you have fully recovered. Oh, and you will take my second in command with you." She gestured towards my… nurse?  
  
The second most powerful demon in Sanctuary was my nurse?  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 9  
  
Pit Fighter  
  
I got over the fact that the second most powerful demon in Sanctuary was my nurse with surprising ease. Maybe I was beyond being shocked.  
  
"Why did you save me from Harrogath? And why not rescue me before I got fried by lightning?"  
  
"Well, it was a test. We had to see if you would be willing to fight against the angels, and we had to see your actual capabilities in combat. That trick you used at the beginning was impressive. If you had been useless and stupid, we would not have brought you here. Call it research for the right hero. You appear to be it." I accepted that answer. It sounded reasonable. Maybe it was even the truth.  
  
"So what do I do until I've fully recovered, and how long will it be?"  
  
My nurse stepped forwards and answered, "It will be about a week until you're ready to travel. Until then, we'll try and teach you some new tricks in the training arena. Tricks that don't fail you whenever an angel pokes his finger at you."  
  
"Sounds good. When can we start?"  
  
"Now." The elder demoness answered this question, waved her hands, and uttered an indistinct word. The grand room that I was standing in faded, taking her and my nurse with it.  
  
With a flash of light and the sensation of traveling at dizzying speed for a moment, I appeared in the middle of a large circle. It was about fifty feet in radius, allowing plenty of movement within its confines. Solid dirt provided good traction, allowing for running and dodging. Mist and smoke swirled around and over the circle, leaving me encased in a dome of fog. I shifted uneasily. Who knew what existed outside, hidden from view in the mist?  
  
With an audible pop and the smell of roses, my nurse appeared hovering in the air besides me. I really have to learn her name… I can't keep calling her 'nurse' if she's the second in command to the most powerful demon in Sanctuary. I was brought to attention by the sound of her voice.  
  
"This is the arena. First I'll give you a little exercise with your sword. I will control your opponents, choosing them and controlling their movements. Are you ready?"  
  
I nodded my head.  
  
"Good luck. By the way, this is for real. If you lose an arm to a creature in the arena, you lose it in real life. If you get killed here, you're dead for real. I'll try not to kill you."  
  
I nodded again, and she concentrated for a moment. My sword appeared lying on the dark dirt in front of me. Without another word, my nurse winged off into the mist.  
  
"Wait a minute! I have a question for you!" I called out after her.  
  
Her voice drifted in from somewhere outside the arena, echoing and bouncing around until I couldn't tell where it came from. "What is it?"  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Arnica. Get ready."  
  
I stepped forwards and grabbed my sword. Too bad she didn't give me my armor. I stood cautiously in the center of the ring, glancing all around me for enemies. I waited like that for almost a minute, waiting for my enemies to show themselves.  
  
Then I heard a low roar to my left.  
  
And one to my right.  
  
One to my front.  
  
And one behind me.  
  
Four animals crept out of the dense mists and closed in on me. Each of them moved with a slow, almost feline grace. Their tawny fur-covered bodies were about six feet long, not including the large thin tails. A tuft of light brown hair covered the tips of their long tails, which slowly writhed in the air like snakes with a mind of their own. Large golden eyes peered at me above snarling mouths. One of them bared his fangs at me, revealing impressive teeth. About four inches long, I believe. A shaggy bunch of hair covered their necks.  
  
I could definitely take on one of them successfully. Two, maybe. Four? Give me a break.  
  
Four deadly opponents were closing in on me from all sides, and I didn't even have any armor to protect me. I searched my paladin vocabulary for a suitable curse to describe the situation I was in.  
  
"Darn it."  
  
Words fail me.  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 10  
  
Lion Tamer  
  
Darn it? What type of curse is that? Oh yeah, the paladin type. Since 'darn it' doesn't seem evil enough to fit the occasion, I'll be really wicked now. Gosh darn it.  
  
All thoughts of my righteous swearing and how pathetic it was vanished as the four feline animals made their moves. They closed in on me from all sides, growling a low rumble from deep within their throats, their long tails slowly twitching in unison.  
  
I abruptly decided that I wasn't going to wait to be killed like a good little boy. That meant I had to attack, not defend myself. Which oversized kitty to kill first? They all look the same…  
  
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them, my aura was awakened. I felt its warmth inside me, giving me strength to overcome my enemies, and renewed vigor. Same aura as last time. Same result too.  
  
Like a chilling replay of my latest battle, the one where I was fried by a bolt of heavenly lightning, my aura fought to keep its life, flickered on and off, and, as I knew it would, died a fiery death.  
  
Darn unreliable things.  
  
Arnica's voice floated from above. "That's what will happen whenever you try to use one of your paladin talents. We think Tyrael put a curse on you. What heaven can give you, heaven can take away from you. Fight with only your sword… and whatever other new powers you can find within you."  
  
I gave a short bow to my unseen game master, straightened, and charged towards the nearest big cat. With my sword outstretched, screaming battle cries at the top of my lungs. I'm sure everybody in the arena was frightened and intimidated of me. Brownie point for me.  
  
My sword arrived on time in the proper place. The only problem was that my destination's hair covered throat was no longer there. Hey, I kept my end up. I refuse to be held responsible for the extreme agility and reflexes that all cats seem to possess, even the six-foot-long type.  
  
All this flashed through my mind as I twisted around to where all four of my enemies now sat on their haunches. Was it just my imagination, or did they have a mocking smirk?  
  
I attacked again, using a little more stealth this time. Mustn't fight like a drunken barbarian. We know what happened to them. Maybe I'll carve "Kilt by Angelsh, dont do no drinksh" on their monument, if they ever get one. My, I'm in a fine mood today. Pity that nobody here can enjoy my wit. I'm willing to bet, if I were allowed to bet, I'd bet that nobody could even understand my wit. True brilliance always goes unappreciated.  
  
While I had been thinking all of these, I began to notice something odd. No, not that I was trapped in a huge pit with a fog-covered dome and four strange creatures I had never seen before facing me. The other odd thing. I appeared to be flying.  
  
Or hovering. I didn't have wings, but my feet were about two feet off the floor. So this is how Tyrael felt. Hovering is an enjoyable experience, especially when it allows you to retreat, run away, from your enemies. With a thought from me, I increased my distance from the floor to ten feet. While up there, I pondered how I was able to fly. Things like this deserve to be pondered deeply for a few minutes. My various musings upon this subject were voiced as I thought. I added many thoughtful sighs from time to time, for good measure. I'm a shameless showman at heart.  
  
First, I know that I was not able to do this before my unfortunate end to the mortal combat in Harrogath. I conclude that something changed between that time and now. Let me count what has changed. I'm in Hell, have met two extremely powerful demonesses, exchanged my armor for a useless robe, been taken to an arena to fight for my life as a gladiator, and learned to fly. Is any of this helpful?  
  
"Actually, it is," Arnica's voice floated down from directly above me. "I'm a little offended when you call the robe we generously gave you useless. That's not an ordinary robe, it's a robe I wove and blessed myself. I'm quite proud of it. You wouldn't believe all the things that little beauty can do…"  
  
I stopped her, because I was sure that whatever I had to say was more important. I never was a good gentleman, especially not to demons. For some bizarre reason, I was raised to be impolite to demons.  
  
"You can tell me about that stuff later. Why didn't I start flying the moment I first wore this?" She blushed, and mumbled a few incomprehensible words. Actually, I don't know if she blushed because I couldn't see her. It's quite disconcerting to have a conversation with a person you can't see. Unfortunately, I do it all the time. "Sorry, didn't catch that."  
  
"I said that it was a little glitch. I'm still learning how to fix it. It only starts working when you first wear it into combat. It catches your mood, and now you'll have to be in that same mood whenever you want to use one of your robes powers. Again, a little minor bug in the magic. I might be able to fix it in a few hundred years of more research… Anyways, what mood were you in a few minutes ago? Don't tell me, just think about it. Get back to work now, enough talking. I don't get paid to talk."  
  
She gets paid? Will the wonders ever cease? Let's see, a few minutes ago I was talking to myself sarcastically. Sarcasm is needed to use my robe. This should be easy. Time to test my new abilities.  
  
I elevated myself as high as I could go until I was hidden from view in the dense mist. I could clearly see my four little animal friends down below. With my new keen eyesight, and flying powers, I felt like a hawk. I swooped like one too.  
  
With a feral screech, I plummeted downwards, little more than an indistinct blur of speed. I landed squarely on top of one of the monstrosities, plunging my blade deep inside of its neck, and swiftly sawing back and forth until it was almost decapitated, hanging by a thin strand of flesh. One down.  
  
As it entered its death throes, I leapt to the next two. The last creature was hanging back, maybe because it was more intelligent. I slammed the hilt of my sword into the bony spinal cord of the smaller one, and heard a satisfying crunch. I hissed in pain as a massive paw smashed into my side, and hooked claws raked upwards. I gleefully extracted my revenge as I plunged my bloody sword up through the stomach of the beast. I quickly regained the offensive and hamstringed both of them with a single broad swipe of my sword. I couldn't help but notice that my sword and 'armor' were both shining with a mysterious light. Or was it darkness?  
  
One dead, two down, one to go.  
  
The last, and largest, of the felines and I faced each other from opposite sides of the arena. He moved with a slow, deadly grace, and I could see intelligence clearly glinting within his eyes, an inquisitive gleam clearly visible. With an ear splitting roar, he reared up into the air and jumped towards me, paws outstretched for a deadly embrace that would surely kill me.  
  
I ducked to my right and rolled on my shoulder, and noticed something. It's much easier to roll when you're wearing a robe than when you're wearing heavy steel armor. And the enchantments were nice too. Unfortunately, as I was reminded by the cruel rip of claws on my skin, a robe just didn't give you the same class of protection as solid metal.  
  
I was lying on the floor wounded by two heavy gashes, my skin ripped completely open. I envisioned my innards hanging out of my belly. I envisioned my ribs smashed, the bleached white points of my bones sticking out on each side like the legs of a squashed spider. I envisioned myself dying because I'm on the ground and can't get up quickly, and there's no little girl who will help me now because she won't… I wish I had a less active and vivid imagination.  
  
As the cat reared back to strike the killing blow, I prepared myself for nothingness.  
  
I was not entirely disappointed.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 11  
  
The Powers That Be  
  
Today was just full of pleasant surprises. First I learned how to fly, and then I didn't die when I was supposed to. Life was good.  
  
  
  
I lay there flat on my back for a few seconds, trying to figure out what had just happened. The animal had leapt at me. In midair it had burst into flames and dissolved to ashes after crashing into… a succubi bloodstar? Coming from my direction? Very strange. Try as I might, I couldn't remember myself having any ability to launch large red orbs of power through the air.  
  
Duh. I felt stupid as I realized that it was probably another of the powers that my new succubi-made robe possessed. I'm sure it was only a temporary thing. I mean the feeling stupid part. Let's see. I can fly and shoot bloodstars. Those are both powers that the demonesses have. I guess I'm the first man in history to have these powers. Add another one to the long list of all the 'first man in history' things I've done in the last year or so. This one's actually relatively low on the list, when compared to killing all three Prime Evils. I'm almost sure that no one's ever done that one before. Probably. You never know in this crazy mixed- up world I have to put up with.  
  
"I feel like a stupid superhero wearing my suit that gives me superpowers," I confided to Arnica as we walked out of the arena a few hours later. Actually, strike that. Replace that with 'as we FLEW out of the arena a few hours later.' Why walk when you can fly?  
  
"At least you'll be a stupid superhero instead of a dead superhero. Which do you prefer, embarrassment or death?"  
  
She had a point there. I'm a strong supporter of anything that keeps me alive longer than I should be.  
  
We wandered aimlessly through the fortress for a few more minutes, shrouded in silence. I guess neither of us were much for conversation. I reflected on the demons I had killed over the years, and the demons that I had created. I had destroyed real demons, only to create imaginary ones inside my head.  
  
{Are you calling me imaginary, 'hero'?} Baal's words came bubbling out from deep within my brain. {If you have one.} Great. Not even my thoughts are secret from my dead enemy. I can think of a million other personalities that I'd rather have in my skull.  
  
I supposed that my visitor was gaining power, since he never spoke to me before, except in my nightmares. I concentrated and released a single thought, directing it towards my resident demon.  
  
{What brings you here, Baal? Why not stay locked up in Hell where you belong, instead of mucking around with my mind?}  
  
{I prefer your head, mortal. So many deliciously sinful thoughts to feast upon, and from a paladin too… Besides, I wanted to see your reaction to what will happen in a couple minutes.}  
  
{Now you're a seer? You didn't even make a very good demon. I wouldn't suggest trying a new profession before you even learn your current one.}  
  
{I'll make your dreams especially difficult for that one, little soldier. But I imagine tonight's dreams will be horrible enough even without my help.}  
  
{Feel like telling me why? While I'm still young?}  
  
{You will always be young… because you won't live to see old age. As for why your sleep will be naturally plagued by nightmares tonight… open your eyes and see.}  
  
My eyes flew open as he thought that. I hadn't even realized they were closed. As my sight returned, so did my hearing and sense of smell. Once again, I smelled the one odor  
  
I never wanted to smell again.  
  
The smell of blood. It clung to the air, cloying and sickly sweet. I heard screams in the distance, and the sounds of ferocious battle. Metal and magic warred in a battle for dominance, as did demons and angels.  
  
But who were the demons, and who were the angels? I unsheathed my war sword with a long, protracted hiss, and set off to find out, not even noticing that my succubus companion was missing.  
  
I advanced on for about ten yards through the narrow stone corridor, the shadows of flames flickering their graceful dance across my face. Despite the faint light of torches lining the cold walls, I could only see a few feet in front of me. Who knew what lurked beyond my vision? The fortress had suddenly turned menacing and dark, full of unknown enemies. It had been my home, as much as I have ever had a home. Now it was enemy territory.  
  
I stumbled across the crumpled bodies of a group of succubi- my allies. They wouldn't be much help. A pool of blood swirled around my feet.  
  
{Once again, you come too late to help anybody. Five more who have died because of you. The list is getting longer, my righteous friend.} I ignored him. There would be time for guilt later. Time for much guilt.  
  
I stopped, thinking I had heard a noise behind me.  
  
Then all Hell broke loose. Or Heaven.  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 12  
  
Impromptu Meetings  
  
I had thought that the walls around me were made of stone, which they were. My mistake was in assuming that the stone was solid. The wall on the right side of me caved in without any warning. Dust and gravel cascaded onto me as the barrier collapsed into chunks of heavy rubble. I found myself trapped by large pieces of rock, covering my whole body except for my face, weighing me down. I was pinned to the floor.  
  
White wings gleamed above me. I couldn't help but notice the bloodstains marring their beauty. That did not bode well for my future… An old friend appeared above me, his face contorted in a malicious smile that did not fit his features. He obviously saw me, so I decided to make the first move.  
  
"Izual. How good to see you again." Sincerity is not my strong point.  
  
"You too, paladin. I trust you are well?" The angel flashed me a smile full of malice. "I was very surprised to find you here… very surprised indeed. I came to find you as soon as I heard the news." I immediately thought of all the reasons why Izual would want to kill me. First was that we were probably enemies, since all the other angels I had seen were now evil, for some reason. Second was that I had killed him once before. Perhaps he wanted to return the favor. Never mind that I had to kill him to save him. That's the most stupid religious crap I've ever heard from my leaders. Kill them to save them.  
  
"Yeah, I'm just fine, Izual. You're looking better than the last time I saw you," I said, trying to delay him as long as possible. Make conversation. Small talk, maybe. It would probably work as long as I didn't start talking about the weather. That would be too obvious. And traditional. I hate tradition.  
  
It was actually true that Izual was looking better. Last time I had seen him, he was trapped inside a crude demonic form. Which I killed. His current form was much different. Izual was quite rugged for an angel, with broad shoulders and powerful wings. Missing was the characteristic slimness of most angels, or their usual features. He had a permanent mocking smile fixed to his clean-shaven face, along with light brown hair. He also had deep brown eyes, possessing the spark of wisdom that I have seen among few. One of them was Deckard Cain.  
  
Beneath the angel's calm exterior, I sensed a quiet rage at the world around him. Given time and pain to nurture it, that inner rage could become a flame to consume us all. Izual's anger was understandable. I would be angry too if I had gone through the Hell that he had endured.  
  
"Yes, I have recovered from my ordeal at the hands of the demons… physically recovered, that is. The mental scars may last as long as I live," he explained, a haunted look in his eyes. He suddenly seemed to withdraw and become distant, reliving the past. Though we were enemies, I pitied him for a second. Then I remembered Harrogath, and decided that I didn't pity him at all.  
  
More small talk. "So, what brings you here, angel? You must have a reason for coming to find me other than to enjoy my charming conversation." Oh, no. I probably just reminded him to kill me. I fervently hoped he hadn't heard me.  
  
Never rely on hope. It's just plain unreliable. Izual lost the glazed look, and his eyes snapped back to focus on me. He shuddered, as if he had just noticed me, seen me for the first time. "Paladin? What are you doing here? This is no place for you to be."  
  
What was going on? I abruptly decided that Izual's mental health was unstable. Thus the split personality and confusion. I talked to him gently, lied in the hope that he wouldn't kill me or take me prisoner. "Don't you remember? I came with you on the side of the angels to assault this cursed demonic fortress. I serve Tyrael, the Archangel, just as you do. Like you, I serve the Darkness."  
  
Izual's brown eyes narrowed in hate. He quickly rose to his feet and drew his blood stained sword. "Do not ever say that again. I serve nobody except myself, least of all Tyrael and the rest of those traitors to the Light. I have killed as many as I could here, and now I will kill you too. Traitor!" He snarled at me like a mad animal and flung his body at me, sword outstretched like the avenging angel he was.  
  
All this time I had been quietly shoving aside rubble and freeing myself. I looked up to see his blade about to sever my throat, and rolled aside just in time. Izual followed up with a cruel backhand that slashed a thin red line on my left arm, barely connecting. I backpedaled, trying to get as far away from this madman as I could. Things definitely hadn't gone according to plan. I guess this goes to show that you shouldn't lie.  
  
The insane angel pressed his attack so hard that I barely had time to raise my own sword and block him. A crimson stained blade resonated with fury as it met my gleaming weapon, batting it aside with inhuman strength. I was forced to give ground, walking backwards even as I desperately parried every attack. I stumbled over a large block of stone, and fell, thinking all was lost. His blade screamed through the air as it sliced where my head should have been.  
  
I lay on the ground and watched his heavenly sword descend to take my life.  
  
A familiar voice cut through the air like the sharp crack of a whip, commanding and entreating at the same time. This voice was accustomed to being obeyed.  
  
"STOP THIS MADNESS!"  
  
Izual froze in his place, his blade no more than an inch over my unprotected head.  
  
Nurse to the rescue.  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 13  
  
Rising Storm  
  
Arnica floated over the rubble to land between me and Izual. I had never seen her upset before, and I decided that I never wanted to be the recipient of her anger again. Her blonde hair danced with electricity, crackling lightning at every move she made. Her blue eyes had turned completely white, not even the pupils showing. A negligent wave of her hand, and Izual's sword shot out of his hand, landing with a resounding clang on the dusty stone floor.  
  
Arnica's voice cracked like the boom of thunder, as she explained our stupidity to us. "What are you doing, you idiots? We are allies! You aren't supposed to fight your allies, in case you didn't gather that bit of information in all of your adventures." I cringed, while Izual just looked dumbfounded, his jaw dropping as he stared at the succubus.  
  
He spoke after a few seconds of gaping at her. "Who are you? And why did you stop me from killing this traitor? I am on your side in this battle! I am not like the other ang-"  
  
That was as far as he got before she started up again. "So is he!" she shouted, waving a hand in my general direction. "And I know that you are on my side. You must be the notorious Izual, more demon than angel." Izual stiffened at that, and started to reach for his sword, before thinking better of it.  
  
"The human said that he was with Tyrael. I was merely doing my duty."  
  
I broke in, tired of being left out of this conversation. "That was a lie. I said that because I thought you were a corrupted angel, and I wanted you to believe that I was on your side. Obviously, honesty is the best policy." Both of them nodded their heads at that. They looked strange standing side by side. A righteous demon standing next to a righteous angel. I couldn't decide which was more unusual for the time.  
  
"So, we are obviously on the same side," Arnica stated in a tone that brooked no argument.  
  
"Obviously," echoed the angel, still gawking at her face. She either didn't notice or she was a very good actress. I'm betting on the latter. It's probably hard to not notice a full-grown angel staring at you with his mouth hanging open like a teenage boy. Or whatever the angel equivalent to being a boy is.  
  
Completely ignoring him, our… leader… laid out her plans for us. "Good. Let's see if we can take the battle to them…" she thought out loud. "Any ideas, gentlemen?"  
  
"Well, how's the battle going? Are any of your sisters still alive? Can we expect any outside help?" I asked. I love answering questions with questions.  
  
"I can answer that," volunteered Izual. "I believe that most of the succubi are dead, and the fortress is almost completely controlled by Tyrael now. As I flew in unseen by them, I estimated his force to be about thirty or forty." Arnica seemed unsurprised by the news that her sisters were dead. She was taking it well. Too well, in fact.  
  
"And there is no outside help coming yet," she stated calmly. "I can go alert some of our forces and bring help, but it will take me at least two hours to get there and back."  
  
"That sounds good-" the angel began to agree, but I cut him off. Now was not the time for manners.  
  
"Why? Why bring help? Is there a point to liberating this place?" Silence. Reluctantly, both demon and angel shook their heads. "Then it seems to me that the primary object is for us to get out of here alive, not to go on an angel killing spree. We're greatly outnumbered, at least ten enemies for every one of us. Run today so we can fight tomorrow, when the odds better favor us."  
  
"A coward's doctrine," growled Izual.  
  
"But the only sane choice." Apparently, Arnica agreed with me. If we could convince Izual, we just might have a chance to get out of this hellhole alive. How do you convince an insane person to accept a sane choice? An argument ensued between all of us for a minute or two, but Izual lost in the end. We would choose to live and fight another day instead of becoming martyrs.  
  
Scratch that. A bunch of angels suddenly charged down the hall at us, seemingly appearing from nowhere. At their head ran my old acquaintance Tyrael, his face a grinning mockery of what it once had been.  
  
The three of us immediately dropped into the various defensive positions that suited us best. Izual grabbed his sword and prepared it, while I did the same. Arnica needed no sword. Electricity began to crackle through her hair again, creating a network of sparks. Her pale hands began to glow with a reddish light, congealing together to create an orb of energy. She fired it off down the dark hallway, illuminating it with maroon light. An angel caught it on his chest and shrieked as he burst into flames and disintegrated.  
  
It seems that I may still have a chance to become a martyr.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Victory's Ashes- Chapter 14  
  
Orderly Routs  
  
Down the hall they came, an orderly mob of chaos. A chaotic mob of order. Whichever best fits angels gone sour. Angels uphold order. God knows what fallen angels uphold. Chaos is my belief, though it doesn't seem to be something any being can uphold. It can be spread, but upheld just doesn't seem the word to fit it. I've always believed that there is no good and evil. Just order and chaos. Both have their place. When I was a paladin, it seemed that the natural place for order was on top. Now, I'm not sure.  
  
And then there was no more time for thought, no time for philosophical musings. My sword lifted and jerked with a will of its own, because I certainly couldn't have moved so quickly, my arm flowing in and out of deadly patterns like quicksilver. Izual stood like a wall to my left, refusing to give up even an inch as his bastard sword swept up and down with maniacal strength. To my right, Arnica shrieked long and loudly, her voice climbing so far up the octaves that I think she must have created new notes on the spot. An answering burst of red lights over the heads of the enemy told me that she wasn't shrieking out of fear.  
  
No space to move, no time to think. Take one step back to avoid the blade, slide one step forward to kill the owner while he's overreached. Heart or throat? I chose the heart. Long experience has shown me that something without a heart can't rise from the dead. Avoid one of Izual's colossal swings as it whizzed over my lowered head to lop off an arm, and roll on the floor to escape Arnica's bloodstar as it blooms a red wake of destruction through the hallway.  
  
Two iron black blades slammed next to my head, thankfully missing me. One of them burst into fire at that moment, and I may have screamed. Burning pain. Agony as the flames raked into my wounded ear, licking up and down it, the sparks leaping dangerously closer to my hair every second. And then came the thought, cold and calculating. I drew out a dagger with my left hand and cut off my own ear before the flames could spread. No bleeding, as the wound was cauterized already.  
  
Throw the dagger back up, hoping it would kill or distract. Block both blades with the haft of my sword as they shatter the dagger to bits. For lack of something better to do, I turned my head and spit on the flaming blade. Bravado has its place when there is nothing else. Blood spattered on me from my left. White blood. Interesting. The blood of a 'normal' angel was black and oily. Which meant that Izual had just taken a wound. Based upon my expert educated guessing skills, of course.  
  
I scythed my legs through the air like a bizarre form of dancing, sweeping my two attackers off of their feet. One fell to the point of my sword, which just 'happened' to be positioned below him. The other pair of black booted feet shimmered into insubstantiality as my sword arced through them. Ghostly. Flesh there one moment, gone the next. Fortunately, years of battle have trained me to deal with all unexpected situations. In this one, the manual called for getting the heck out of there. Don't bother looking for the manual. I guarantee that you won't find it. That either means it's buried in a dusty old library somewhere inaccessible, or I'm a liar. Don't ask.  
  
I had decided on my course of action. Flight. Next came the planning phase. How to accomplish this lofty goal of self-preservation. One lesson: the universe will never give you all the time you need to plan. As was shown by the slam of the enemy blade into my ribs, biting deep through flesh and bone. Luckily, not too deep. I would live, and be able to move. Not a mortal wound, from the feel of it. And Tyrael's fiery blade once again meant no blood loss.  
  
Yes, the foe that was so soundly trouncing me was none other than Tyrael. I should have been flattered that he chose me over both Izual and Arnica. For some odd reason, I wasn't. Maybe that had something to do with my scorched and cut body, soon to become my scorched and cut corpse unless fortune visited me soon. Fortune's a fickle friend, but even fickle friends visit occasionally. Opportunity knocked on my door at the moment, offering me a deal in the beloved 'I'll-save-your-butt' fashion. Deal: I get out alive and… and, well, isn't getting out alive enough?  
  
I'd like to say that I knew exactly what was happening. But as you can tell, I didn't. I was lying down on the floor one moment, about to die. I clenched my brow and thought happy thoughts. Thoughts of home, wherever that was anymore. The waft of the flowery meadow behind our small cabin, always seeping through the cracks of our walls. The gentle heat of the fire that blazed in the furnace. The clippety-clop of horse's hooves as they pounded the dirt at a run, bringing the news to my family. I was to become a paladin. What can I say? It seemed to be the right decision at the time.  
  
I heard sounds in the distance- three feet away, but it sounded distant at the time for some reason- the shouts and cries of battle. A bloodstar soared majestically overhead like the waiting lights of heaven, the red sphere seeming to wink at me with its own secrets as it careened in slow motion down the hallway. And all the while, Tyrael's blade screeched down, inch-by-inch.  
  
Inch by inch. That's right. Here I was, helpless, and my enemy was swinging the deathblow like a man stuck in ice water. Very slowly, if you lucky people who never had the experience of fighting in a frozen river like I have don't know what it feels like. If it landed at all, the sword wouldn't do much more than tap me at its speed. Somehow, I knew that Tyrael hadn't planned this judging from the look of rage in his eyes, mixed with confusion. A snarl formed on his lips in miniscule bits, and I bemusedly watched in fascination. After a few seconds, it occurred to me that I should run. So I sprang to my feet, wincing as my wounds twisted and jerked. I reached out to dodge a slow moving arm and grabbed my two companions, dragging them down the hallway. Their feet moved sluggishly, unwillingly, and I had to shove them before me.  
  
This time thing, whatever it was, couldn't last forever. And if it did, I had really screwed the world up this time. If it was me who did that. 


End file.
